Dig Your Own Grave
by jane.l.doe
Summary: A seemingly ordinary night in the library for Hermione becomes a nightmare when the present and the future are entwined. If their actions can be changed and nothing is really set in stone, how do they live with conviction, with meaning? Hermione/Draco.
1. One

**A/N: This is not my first rodeo, but I haven't written a fanfic in a really long time. So be gentle with me, okay? That being said, I would still appreciate questions, comments and the sort. As an FYI, don't expect super frequent updates. I just decided to start writing this and I don't really have a plot outlined yet...actually, this story is a remedy for procrastination. I figure, at least I'm doing something constructive! :D**

**It takes place at the beginning of sixth year, following all that's happened until that point. Obviously, it won't be following JK Rowling's awesome and undeniably superior plot...but I hope it'll be mildly interesting for you!**

**Disclaimer: I only own this very unoriginal plot. Characters, setting basically everything belongs to JK Rowling! Cheers.**

**Jane L. Doe**

* * *

Irma Pince had retired from the library hours ago, seeking out the comfort of her private quarters. As much as she hated to leave her books unattended and, at the mercy of the irresponsible and reckless students, she knew only a handful of studious overachievers would be there later than she. While locking up her office for the evening and extinguishing as many candles as she could on her way out, she didn't see a single soul. There was an easy silence in the library.

Glancing once over the library once more, she saw nothing. She could be sure, though, that there was at least one student in the furthest back corner, a Miss Hermione Granger. If ever Irma Pince could relate to any one of the students, it would be that particular young girl. She shared a love and passion of reading that Irma Pince had never encountered in someone so young. Although, she always believed Miss Granger's youthful intent to be masking a greater understanding of the world, a wisdom far beyond her years. But that was just speculation. Irma Pince was not a conversational woman. She was thin, easily irritated and it seemed her lips were constantly pursed in an expression of distaste. She took little interest in the students that occupied her library. Her main concern was her books.

* * * *

It hadn't been the first time Hermione remained the only person in the library and it wouldn't be the last. Sixth year would be unbearably simple compared to the workload she would have next year, her NEWT year. That was if there would be a next year for her. Or for anyone, really.

Although it was only the start of the year and autumn has just begun to take its toll on the grounds, it had been a turbulent beginning to what she assumed would be a hectic year. Harry had seen Voldemort return to power, had seen Cedric Diggory murdered. Just this past year, he'd lost Sirius. They had all lost a dear friend. The Boy Who Lived was slowly beginning to lose faith and the Order of the Phoenix didn't have the answers. So Hermione threw herself into research, rushing through her studies to spend any time she could searching for answers. Although they all knew there was only one solution, Hermione had abandoned logic and reason. In some small way, Hermione had gone a little mad. Einstein had once said insanity was doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results. If she wasn't insane, she didn't know what to call it.

Her worries aside, Hermione frantically flipped through a dusty tome concerning archaic methods of deflecting curses. The old wives tales were the basis of her essay for Professor Snape. He'd finally gotten everything he wanted, being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor after years of applying to no avail. Harry was on edge, unhappy with Dumbledore's decision. It due, in part, to suspicion that Snape was Death Eater. No matter how much Dumbledore vouched for him, Hermione suspected Harry would always hold a personal disdain for the man.

The assignment wasn't due for another week, but the sooner Hermione finished it the sooner she could dedicate her efforts elsewhere. She looked for more evidence to support her argument, having flipped through countless books. It wasn't just her opinion that old magic remained a part of new techniques and new spells. There was proof. Magic was an ancient anomaly that was rooted in their history. It wasn't static and she could prove that the spells they used were based on outdated ideas. She had to prove it or else she would fail the assignment. Of all the professors to prove herself to, Snape was the only one she had to fight tooth and nail to impress. At time, she irrationally felt inclined to believe Harry's theory. Snape seemed far too prejudiced against her—and her alone—to be fighting for the Order. He was instilled with the ugly hatred that epitomized a certain pompous blonde someone Hermione loathed.

The seemingly impenetrable silence was shattered by a sudden crash. Hermione jumped so violently the book toppled off the side of the desk. It was only a dull thud in the wake of the horrendous sound of wood splintering. If she didn't know any better, Hermione would've said the shelves, staggeringly close together, toppled over like dominos.

Heart in her throat, beating erratically, she scanned her corner of the library. Everything was in place, she couldn't see the source of the sound from her vantage point. Constant vigilance. If there was anything she learned from Mad Eye, namely during their fourth year when he was held captive by the maniacal Barty Crouch Jr., it was that. Ever vigilant, Hermione's first instinct was her wand. She grabbed it immediately, her hand shaking slightly from adrenaline. As a child, she'd been in enough haunted houses during Halloween to know something could always jump out at her, always throw her for a loop. She recognized the fear, both rational and irrational as she was learning. Sometimes, things did go bump in the night. Voldemort and his cronies were living proof of that.

As far as she knew, she was the only one in the library. She had heard the customary sound of Madam Pince's modest high heels padding across the carpet and the echo of the heavy doors closing. No one had come into the library since. Assuming the sound came from another intruder, how did they get in? Hogwarts was one of the safest places in Britain, protected by every magical ward Hermione could fathom. It was nearly impenetrable to all kinds of magic.

Hermione slid out of her seat, careful to keep the wooden legs from shifting on the carpet or making any audible sound at all. If the intruder was here at this hour, they couldn't believe anyone else would be in here. And that was where they were sorely mistaken. Wand at the ready, Hermione edged herself around the bookshelves, peering around each corner, down each row of books. As she neared the other side of the library, where the sound had come from, it seemed her assumption was right. Pieces of parchment, or more precisely pages of books, were scattered along the carpeted isles. It looked as though shelves had simply collapsed. It was unlikely, if not impossible. Madam Pince would never allow such poor maintenance in her library. With each step, her resolve furthered. It had to have been caused by someone.

The pages progressed into books, strewn and tossed on the floor. She steadied her breathing and whirled around the corner to the centre of the mess. Two entire shelves had been decimated in what looked to be an explosion of sorts. The wood hadn't given out but had been smashed to pieces. In the heap of books and broken shelves was a man. Hermione would recognize that face anywhere, but it was remarkably different. It wasn't the face of the sixteen year old boy she'd seen earlier that day, but an older version. There was no mistaking the blonde hair. Now, though, the platinum sheen was replaced with mud and a rusty colour that looked like dried blood.

"Malfoy?" she breathed, too afraid to take another step.

She couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. Half his body was covered in books, his head turned away from her. He was wearing a white shirt that was filthy and cut to ribbons. His left hand, furthest from her, was a loosely-formed fist while his right hand was at his side. She let out an uncharacteristic curse when she realized he was all but holding his side together, keeping his insides...well, inside.

* * * *

Hermione had lost count of the number of scrapes her, Harry and Ron had found themselves in. But she had never seen so much blood. It made her stomach churn and the metallic smell assaulted her senses. She tried all the healing spells she'd perfected but none of them were strong enough. This was too much for her and she was way in over her head. She couldn't levitate him to the infirmary, she needed to keep pressure on his side.

She pocketed her wand and knelt down beside him, pitching books and chunks of wood over her shoulder. Clearing the debris off his crumpled body was much easier than lifting said body. Despite his sickly appearance, this Mafloy, whoever he was, weighed more than he appeared. She hooked his left arm over her shoulder and placed her free hand over his right one. A barely audible groan slipped out from beyond his cracked lips. That and the warmth his body radiated were good signs. If he wasn't conscious, at least he was alive.

"C'mon Malfoy," she groaned, using all her weight to get them upright. "Get up, wake up now."

Her knees almost buckled under the weight. Hermione wasn't athletic or physically capable and it took everything she had just to drag him to the library entrance. She hauled the door open and started towards the stairs. He wasn't much help, barely shuffling his feet. Hermione couldn't carry dead weight. An aggravated yell escaped her lips and she slid down on the stairs, leaning against the cool stone. She could feel his warm, sticky blood soaking into her side. She didn't like this feeling of hopelessness. Usually she was never alone, she had people helping her. The portraits, irritated at being stirred from their sleep, were now taking in the situation. Hermione told them to get someone, a professor, anyone. Whoever was closest. It didn't phase her that the third floor was Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"HELP!" she yelled, hoping the professors or prefects on duty would be somewhere close by. "Someone help! A student is hurt!"

From a dark corridor, Hermione could see a bobbing light growing brighter as the person neared. Although she couldn't sigh out of relief just yet, the sound of feet scraping against the stone floor was mildly comforting. But that relief was short lived once Snape's black cloak swung around the corner. His wand outstretched, tip illuminated, he stared at her with wide eyes. This was obviously as much a shock to him as it had been to her. She could imagine how it looked to him, her holding up a bleeding Malfoy. He probably though she had tried to do him in or something equally ridiculous.

"Professor," she gasped, keeping her hand pressed to his side as Malfoy's head lulled against the crook of her neck. "I found him in the library. It's Mafloy...but it's not...I don't think..."

There was a moment of silence where Snape seemed to realize the complexity of the situation. The Malfoy they were acquainted with was tucked safely into his bed, unaware of his other self bleeding to death on the stone stairs between the fourth and third floors.

"Quiet girl," Snape snapped. "Don't just sit there, get him to the hospital wing."

"We can't levitate him," she urged. "His side...I'm holding it together."

It was a strange sentence Hermione wished she never had to speak. This was like something out of a horror movie, not a part of her life. Snape glared at her and swept up the remaining stairs to them. Apparition was out of the question, so he resorted to the same technique as Hermione. She could practically feel the irritation rolling off of him in waves, having to resort to a slow, labor-some muggle task. As he helped Malfoy to his feet, she was suddenly aware of how odd the moment was. Alongside two of the people she disliked most at Hogwarts, Hermione felt their shared purpose created a ludicrous sense of understanding.

Snape told the nearest portrait to inform Madam Pomfrey they would be arriving with a gravely injured Malfoy. As soon as he mentioned St. Mungo's and the possibility that he might need more intensive medical care, the realization that he might die began to set in.

What would happen if this Malfoy from some other time died? What would happen to the Malfoy she knew?


	2. Two

**A/N: Thanks to all those who faved the story! And to the two wonderful readers who reviewed :D It really inspires motivation! As with this chapter and all subsequent chapters, I am horrendously busy/chronically lazy and don't meticulously check my spelling, grammar or syntax, so please excuse any mistakes you come across. Feel free to let me know so I can edit when necessary! I'm hoping the quality of my writing will get better as exams start to wind down...I might even go back and re-do the chapters (more in-depth and less cheesy writing! YAY!). Wishful thinking!**

**Disclaimer: Again, nothing but the plot belongs to me...although it is highly unoriginal (but hopefully entertaining). Almost everything is JK Rowling. Brilliant.**

**Cheers,**

**Jane L. Doe**

* * *

More frequently than not, Poppy Pomfrey was wide awake during the wee hours of the morning. Usually she could see the black night sky fading to blue before she ever closed her eyes. The hospital wing was always busy at Hogwarts, even more so as tensions rose among students in the school. Although many people didn't want to believe it, the war was very much a part of the social structure at the school. Hogwarts was safe, no question about that, but there were students who clearly allied themselves with either the Order or with the Death Eaters. Poppy was willing to bet her career that some of the students in the school were already part of the Death Eater ranks, the Dark Mark and all.

Suspicions running wild, prejudices and rash actions saw to it that Poppy was kept busy. Just that morning she had an unfortunate Slytherin student in her care suffering from one of Ginny Weasley's volatile Bat-Bogey hexes. Not that it was not deserved. Blaise Zabini, much like his Slytherin peers, had a knack for antagonizing their classmates. It was very much a part of being Slytherin. That sense of entitlement was tiring and was beginning to try everyone's nerves. Merlin forbid if she herself ever felt inclined to hex one or more of the rude, ungrateful students who passed through her doors.

Zabini was fast asleep in one of the white beds of the hospital wing last time she had checked. From time to time she would peer out of the window of her office, making sure all was well. At this point it was after 2:00 in the morning and she was absolutely knackered. Ready to retire to her rooms, she finished organizing her charts and putting everything back where it belonged. Zabini was here more for his own sanity rather than his physical health. The longer he stayed out of the corridors, the less likely it was she would see him in her ward again. But Poppy had always been insistent on keeping students overnight, just to ensure they would be fine for their classes the following day. She peeked out of the glass again and the boy was still asleep.

The sweeping of the clock tower was the only sound in the dark hospital wing, lulling Poppy to a state of near exhaustion. The things she did for the school, she thought. Although her loyalty to Dumbledore was the only reason she stayed, there were of multitude of careers Poppy could've pursued in her youth. She could've worked at St. Mungo's—

A shuffling sound broke the silence, surprising her. Poppy looked up to the source of the sound. More stirring started once the portraits began to wake from their slumber. A portly old man that did not belong in the paintings in her office was leaning against a hospital bed, hand outstretched as he tried to catch his breath. She could briefly see the bald spot on the crown of his head before he looked up, his face an alarmingly dark shade of scarlet.

"There's been an accident. Professor Snape and the Granger girl are on their way here. The Malfoy boy...he's been injured, Madam."

The old man puffed out the words, all the figured in the other portraits looking to and from Poppy expectantly. "Very well," she said, standing up in a flurry of robes.

* * * *

"Poppy!" a stern voice called from the entrance.

Severus could see she received his message. She was fretting over the bed she'd prepared. On the side table there were bandages, a wash bowl of warm water and a damp cloth, numerous unlabeled bottles. Although she was already in her nightgown, presumably ready for bed, he knew she was awake before they'd come. Poppy dedicated far too much time to her work, much like the young woman aiding him at the moment. If Severus could predict any future for Miss Granger it would be a healer of some sort, possessing the same qualities as his peer, Poppy Pomfrey.

"Quick now, Severus, place him on the bed," she ordered, not sparing a glance their was as she fiddled with the organized chaos on the table. "What happened?"

As they shuffled over to the bed, Severus looked at the wide-eyed girl. There was a moment of hesitation and Poppy too looked up and at Hermione. However bright she was, Severus knew that Granger was not a fan of the limelight. Outside of class, she was unusually quiet. Only in recent years had he seen her develop a spine at all. An unfortunate quality she'd obtained from too much time spent with Potter and the Weasley family. Severus eased the young man back onto the pillow. If he didn't know any better, the boy looked dead to the world. The only signs of life were a shallow breathing and his warm skin.

Poppy too looked at Malfoy for the first time. He was in a horrid condition, one that might possibly require more intense medical attention than she could provide. There were both deep and shallow cuts littering his arms and torso. A particularly nasty gash on his side had saturated his white t-shirt, all bust wisps of fabric now, in blood. His skin was pale and waxy, from blood loss no doubt. She also noted he was dressed in dark jeans that were similarly ripped and bloodied. To her disdain, he was filthy, covering the immaculate bed sheets with mud and dampness. Poppy noticed, though, that that was indeed Draco Malfoy, just not the young boy she was accustomed to seeing. Her brow furrowed.

"Granger!" he barked.

She jumped, clearly on edge. "I don't know. I was in the library studying and I could've sworn I was the only one there. Madam Pince had left a while ago. No one came in or out, and then there was this crash. It sounded like the bookshelves had toppled over. I went to see what caused the noise and I found...Malfoy."

By that time, her unnerved expression had fallen on the older Draco Malfoy laying in the bed. For an instant there was silence and every stood motionless, taking in the meaning of this. Severus knew Malfoy to be up in his dormitory, completely oblivious to the night's events.

"Are you hurt, Miss Granger?"

Poppy had directed her attention to Hermione now, her white oxford button-down covered in blood. She too looked down at herself, surprised at the sight. Hermione hadn't hurt herself in the least, which meant it, all of it, belonged to Malfoy.

"No," she murmured, looking at Malfoy. "Is he going to be alright?"

She didn't want to ask whether or not he was going to _die_. It made the reality of the situation seem so much more dismal. Not that the wizarding world wasn't overrun by dark and sinister matters nowadays. Hermione just had this naive belief that it might not touch Hogwarts. This home away from home was her safe haven. As much as she didn't want to believe it, Hogwarts was no longer safe. If this wasn't proof of that, she didn't know what was.

"I'll make sure he's fine. In the meantime, why don't you escort Miss Granger back to her common room, Severus? I'll inform you of any changes immediately, but for know I need to work. And might I suggest you notify Albus?"

Poppy could sense the hesitation in Severus, his willingness to argue her on the matter. She knew of his close connection to the boy, to the entire Malfoy family. But she also knew that now would be the time for him to quell his insatiable curiosity and to ask Miss Granger for exact details about what had happened. He looked less than pleased at her order, but this was her hospital wing and she'd be damned if she let anyone interfere. Severus pursed his lips and gave a curt nod.

"Miss Granger?" he inquired.

* * * *

The evening had unfolded like a terrible nightmare. Hermione felt like Alice, like she had fallen down the rabbit hole. Nothing was making any sense at all and it seemed as though she were a rag doll, being pulled right and left, all over the place, by her irrational emotions. Every word she spoke felt rehearsed, like she was far away, viewing a scene from a movie. Why couldn't she do what she really wanted to? Like scream out of panic and fear, run away and crawl into her bed. In fact, she probably seemed far too calm.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey began issuing orders to Snape, of all people, and ensuring them everything would be just fine, Hermione noticed Mafloy's left hand. It wasn't the Dark Mark marring his left forearm that caught her attention. She could've guessed that in a heart beat. It was his left hand, his fingers still loosely curled. She knew it was instinctual that, when unconscious, a person's hand would curl into a fist. But there was something in his hand, Mafloy was holding on to something. She could hear Snape addressing her, probably trying to drag her out of the hospital wing so he could interrogate her, but she ignored it. At this point, it sounded like she was underwater, like they were miles away.

Of course. How could she have been so stupid? She mentally berated herself as she walked up to Malfoy's side. Apparition was impossible on the Hogwarts grounds. There was no way he could've used the Floo network because she had found him in this state in the middle of the library. Not to mention, most of the fireplaces in Hogwarts weren't connected out of safety for the students. Dumbledore himself ensured that the school was nearly impossible to reach magically. And yet, here was Mafloy. Or a version of him.

Hermione slipped her hand into his left hand hesitantly. His skin was mottled with mud and underneath his fingernails was dirt. If ever she was to let her mind wander, she would imagine Malfoy to be impeccably groomed, his fingernails to be clean and manicured. It looked as though he'd been digging through dirt with his hands, now. There were drops of dried blood here and there, flaking of at her touch. She uncurled his fingers and touched sometime delicate, something metallic and glass.

She should have known better.

Picking the small object out of Malfoy's large hand, she raised it to eye-level and turned to face Madam Pomfrey and Snape. Both of them were looking at her as though she'd grown an extra head. Their expressions changed rapidly, though. Understanding marked their features, but Hermione was even more conflicted than before.

"A Time-Turner," she clarified.

But it wasn't just any Time-Turner, it belonged to her.

* * * *

They had left the hospital wing as swiftly as they had entered and Madam Pomfrey hurriedly moved around Mafloy, tending to his injuries. Unbeknownst to them, the conversation hadn't fallen on deaf ears. There was one other person in the hospital wing who had heard everything, had seen everything. One person who'd been forgotten entirely once Malfoy was dragged into the ward. Snape had grabbed her forearm rather violently, pulling her along swiftly. They had left the hospital wing in a frenzy of movement. Neither Madam Pomfrey or Snape had said anything. It was almost like they had some sort of unspoken understanding of one another. Hermione, though, had no idea what was happening. This new piece of information seemed to chang everything. Hermione knew that she was no longer being escorted back to the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione tripped several times, trying desperately to keep up with his long strides. He didn't slow down for her, nor did he answer a single one of her questions. What's going on, Professor? Where are we going? What does this mean? He feigned ignorance, or perhaps deafness, and dragged her through the labyrinth of corridors until they came to the familiar statue. The stone gargoyle. It jumped to life when Snape issued the password impatiently: cauldron cakes.

"Professor," she tried again. "I don't understand."

He kept the firm grip on her arm as though he were afraid she'd run off. They ascended the stairs and Snape only stopped to compose himself at the top. He release Hermione's arm and cleared his throat, knocking quickly on the wooden door.

"Come in, Severus."

The iron hinges wined as the large door swept open, revealing Dumbledore's office. The headmaster was already seated at his desk, glancing at them over his half-moon spectacles. He looked surprisingly pleasant to have been awake at such an hour, a happy smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Like Madam Pomfrey, he was in his pajamas, his robe over them. In his knowing manner, he wasn't surprised by her blood-soaked attire. Hermione followed Snape up to the desk, her hands nervously in front of her.

"Ah, Miss Granger. A pleasure to see you," he greeted. "I hope your studies are going well."

"Yes Professor, they are," she said, shooting a nervous glance at Snape. His face was unreadable. He had no expression at all, but she could sense his impatience with the small talk. Hermione couldn't help but feel the same way. Clearly Professor Dumbledore knew something was going on. He wasn't surprised by any of this in the least.

"Alas, I don't believe this is the reason for this particular late-night visit."

"Albus," Snape said, cutting through the tension with his informality. "There's been a serious problem. Poppy has Mr. Malfoy in the hospital wing. Miss Granger found him in the library...with a Time-Turner."

Hermione stepped forward and placed the Time-Turner down on Dumbledore's desk. Only now did she realize the blood smeared along the glass surface and mingled with the gold of the chain. It didn't surprise her though, there wasn't a place on Malfoy's body that hadn't been covered in blood. Dumbledore tilted his head downwards, a twinkle of familiarity lighting up his blue eyes. Hermione knew he recognized it as the one he and Professor McGonagall had given her in third year.

"It's mine," she said, for the benefit of Snape.

Snape, being the only one unaware of this fact, looked at her sharply. Dumbledore examined the much abused Time-Turner in silence before addressing the two standing before him.

"Do you have any idea of how he came to possess this, Miss Granger?"

She wanted to scoff. There was no way Hermione would ever entrust one of her most valuable possessions to a prat like Malfoy. Remembering her place, and the company in which she stood, she simply cleared her throat and shook her head. "No, sir."

"Then it seems we must wait for Mr. Malfoy to wake up," Dumbledore smiled. There was still that knowing look in his eye. Hermione always felt translucent, like he somehow knew how she felt. She didn't want anyone to know the fear and concern she felt for Malfoy. In her defense, it wasn't necessarily the prat she knew him to be. He was from some other time...where he could've been a nice person...

"In the meantime," he interjected as Snape led her toward the spiraling staircase. "I think it would be best if neither Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley knew of this. For the time being, of course. Oh, and Miss Granger, I'd like to see you and the young Mr. Malfoy in my office tomorrow morning. I'll excuse you from your classes."

Hermione was in no position to argue. She simply nodded and left the office as fast as she could. She wanted to go to the hospital wing, brimming with curiosity and intrigue, but she knew better. Considering everything that had happened, Hermione would be in a mess of trouble soon enough.

The door to her dormitory closed with a quiet squeak and she was careful to tiptoe across the stone, making as little noise as possible. Hermione tossed her bloodied and ruined uniform in the rubbish bin, wanting no sign that anything had ever happened. Although that was next to impossible. Before sliding under her cool covers, she checked her bedside table for her Time-Turner. There it was, the exact same one. A small hourglass in a gold circle with green enamel. Compared to the one Malfoy had in his hands, it looked brand new. But Time-Turners were old magic and each one must've been centuries old. She closed the drawer and examined Malfoy's. The glass had a chip in it. She wondered if that caused any malfunction. Maybe Malfoy hadn't been trying to get to this time at all. It seemed highly unlikely that he would end up in the library at Hogwarts at such a late hour. Especially considering the condition she had found him in.

Hermione's thoughts lulled her into a dreamless state, her exhaustion getting the better of her. She had completely forgotten about her bag and her books in the library. All that occupied her mind were questions about Malfoy as she fell asleep, the bloodied Time-Turner in hand.


	3. Three

**A/N: This is a long one, at least for me it is. Sorry if the ending is unsatisfying, I know I'm terrible...just drawing out the inevitably exciting bits! Please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors, I was eager to get this up for all of you to read. **

**And on that note, thanks to everyone who's been keeping up, reading and/or reviewing! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine :( All J.K. Rowling!**

* * *

At this point, pain was relative. He was sure some of the curses had cut him so deep it had severed his nerve endings. First, there was immense pain. So much that he thought he might blackout. But then, it stopped altogether. All that remained was a dull ache, the remnants of pain.

Everything had gone wrong at this point. He was a deadman no matter what he chose to do in this instant. He was a traitor, a murderer, a vile and pathetic excuse for a man. He looked the part, could play the part, but after everything he was just a shell of a man. This wasn't the way he imagined it would end. On his knees in this place, looking through the people before him. They were of little importance now. At one time, though, he thought otherwise.

They talked at him, but everything sounded far away. Their voices were muffled, like he were underwater. His hand crept to his charcoal grey trousers, dipping into the woolen pocket. He'd paid a fortune for these bloody clothes and now they were ruined. Oddly enough, that seemed more important than the threats his captors were spouting. Everything that was once insignificant in his life garnered a newfound importance. His calloused thumb pressed into the trinket in his pocket. A Time-Turner.

By now, he'd broken a significant number of Ministry laws. He was a wanted man, through and through. So this last act, and it quite literally might be his last if he didn't get medical attention soon, didn't worry him. They continued their self-righteous ranting and he pulled it from his pocket. If he could turn back time, maybe this could have played out differently.

And he could turn back time, so he was betting on this. He needed to change the future.

"What are you doing?" a shrill voice bit out at him.

"Sending you to a cozy cell at Azkaban where you can rot for all I care, you loony hag."

Before it all faded into indistinguishable shapes, blurring and moving in reverse, her enraged howl filled the ruined space. It all repaired itself, every bookshelf returning to its upright position. He dragged himself up off his knees, finding it increasingly difficult to maintain balance when everything seemed to spin around him. His hand came down to his side when he felt a warm sensation mingled with the biting sting. The shirt he wore, torn to ribbons, was stained with a fresh peal of blood.

When the library came into focus again, he closed his eyes, fighting off a wave of bile rising in his throat. He was sleep deprived, emotionally screwed up and bleeding profusely. All he did was close his eyes for a second, just to stop the spinning and the sick feeling. That was the last thing he could recall, except for the smell of warm, buttery leather and the biting scent of lavender invading the darkness.

* * * *

"Wake up."

Someone was roughly shoving him. He didn't need a clock to know it was too early for someone to be waking him up. The voice, though, was insistent and the prodding didn't seem to be stopping. He mumbled a few half-hearted threats and pawed at his mattress, searching for a pillow to throw over his own head and muffle the unwelcome sounds.

"MALFOY!"

"What?" he snarled, turning to the unlucky soul that was about to get the bulk his sunny morning disposition. "What? What is so blooding important? Could it not wait until breakfast?"

Blaise Zabini smirked, and he knew nothing good could come from that expression.

"No, it most certainly can not."

Seldom if ever was Draco Malfoy wary of anyone or anything, but the excitement and dishonest intent was almost tangible in the empty room. Everyone had gone down to the Great Hall already and, usually, he would take this time to sleep before catching the end of the breakfast before taking off for classes. His fellow Slytherins knew the price they paid for dabbling. He was not a morning person and his temper was even shorter before noon.

* * * *

Hermione had woken up oddly at ease and well-rested. That descended into a downward spiral by the time she entered the Great Hall, though. She shot a wary glance at the Slytherin table. Malfoy, or the younger Malfoy, was absolutely nowhere to be found. By no means could she let out a sigh of relief, though. She remembered what Dumbledore had said. They were to have a meeting at some point during their morning classes.

She was in every single class that Malfoy was. He always came second best to her in his studies, so it seemed he made a point this year to have the same schedule. He was taking the most difficult courses offered at Hogwarts, all in an attempt to rival her and eventually, surpass her. It was obvious to everyone. Every time they would get an assignment back, his expression would darken when he found out she beat him.

Of course, she was taking extra classes that no one knew about except for Harry, Ron and the professors. That was all possible due to her Time-Turner, the little magical trinket that had caused all these problems. Hermione shot another furtive glance across the long hall.

By the time she took her usual seat with the usual suspects, she was focussed on nothing else but the Slytherin table. Harry and Ron addressed her numerous times to no avail. She merely nodded and mumbled something about not sleeping.

Hermione realized this was how Harry must feel all the time. She was carrying this weight on her shoulders, this horrid secret she couldn't share with anyone else. Suddenly, she was wrapped up in this whirlwind of events she had no control over. Frankly, it was terrible. Her mind wandered, she couldn't collect her thoughts. Her friends looked at her with concern. Dumbledore was absent from the professors' table, as were several other staff members.

"I have to go," she said in a dreamlike state.

Her unfocussed gaze was at the front of the Great Hall. Four seats were empty. Dumbledore's, Madam Pomfrey's, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall's.

"What?" Ron asked.

Harry's eyebrows disappeared beneath his unruly fringe. Everyone looked at her, confused and ill-informed. As soon as she sat down, she was distracted and every attempt by them to include her in conversation was fruitless. Her gaze wandered between the Slytherin table and the professors. Never once did she pay a bit of attention to them.

"Are you sick?" Harry asked.

"You haven't touched your food, Hermione," Ginny murmured.

She didn't answer them. Instead, she was on her feet and out of the Great Hall before she knew it. In the Entrance Hall, few students were rushing to breakfast before their first class, others were hurrying about. Hermione knew where she was going before she decided it.

Curiosity was a strange ailment. It brought trouble and nothing more. The number of times Harry and Ron had pulled her into trouble with the promise of mystery were countless. Her record was colourfully spotted thanks to them, but Hermione couldn't resist. It was an improbably romance, Hermione Granger and her curiosity.

"Going to the hospital wing, Granger?"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat violently and she nearly missed the next step as she climbed the stairs. She knew it. The entrance to the Slytherin common room was clearly in the dungeons, but it came from the same spiraling stairway that lead to the Potions classrooms. Harry and Ron never did share that tidbit of information with her after the horrendous incident with the Polyjuice Potions.

Standing casually at the bottom of the stairs, complete with his hands in his pockets and the typical, arrogant air about him, was the last person she ever expected to see. Although she was usually on relatively good terms with him, he rarely addressed her outside of class. And it was only ever to do with schoolwork or assignments they shared.

Blaise looked the picture of ease, with the exception of the cocky smile playing on his lips. How could he have known? Throughout the entire ordeal the previous night, she hadn't run into anyone. Maybe someone had been in the library after all. Hermione felt ill, the same sort of feeling she got when she knew she was breaking a rule. Although it was well beyond her control, because she definitely did not tell him a thing, she felt like she had betrayed Dumbledore's trust.

Trying her damnedest best not to squirm she cleared her throat. "Of course not. I forgot my book bag in the library last night when I was studying."

At least she was telling the truth about that. It just occurred to her that she wasn't prepared for class because all of her books were at the same desk she abandoned last night.

"Where you found Malfoy, right?"

Her foot involuntarily slipped down a marble step and she lurched forward. Hermione had never been one to mask her emotions well. She couldn't lie and she rarely hid from everyone. To everyone that looked at her, she was an open book.

He knew. Somehow, he knew.

There was no point in lying, but she promised Dumbledore she wouldn't tell anyone. When in doubt: deny, deny, deny. Her blinked, trying to put in an expression of indifference and confusion, neither of which came naturally to her. But now, she looked more like a deer caught in the headlights, her brown eyes wide with shock.

"What are you on about, Zabini?"

He took a couple steps toward her, lowering his voice for her benefit. He knew just as well as her that this situation came with consequences. No one was supposed to know.

"Come off it, Granger. I was in the hospital wing last night. I was supposed to be sleeping, but with all the racket you made dragging Malfoy in, you could've woken the dead."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I told Malfoy. I mean, the one we both know."

"What?" she hissed, glaring at him. Her poorly composed stoicism had gone out the window at this point. She looked around hastily, making sure that no one was around. "Have you gone mad? He can't know. I'm sure you know as well as I do that Time-Turners can be a dangerous magic to fool around with. Malfoy can't know that his future self just popped into the present, certainly not one that showed up slashed to pieces and dying. He could do something stupid and—"

"Oi, slow down there Granger," he said, holding up his hands and bringing her to a full stop mid-sentence. "You think he believed me? He thinks I belong in a nuthouse."

"He's not far off," she grumbled, crossing her arms. "Did you tell me just to antagonize me? Or is there a purpose to this conversation. I'm going to be late for class."

"No purpose. I just wanted to ruffle a few feathers," he smirked. "You must know by now that no one in Slytherin does something with honorable intentions."

He turned on his heel and laughed his way to the Great Hall. The sound echoed, bouncing off the high ceilings.

"Git," she snapped, continuing her way to the library.

* * * *

Double Potions was barely tolerable under the best circumstances. Now, it was inhumane. Across the isle, paired with Pansy Parkinson was Malfoy. If Blaise had told him, he didn't seem to take it all seriously. He looked as unbothered and placid as he did every other day.

"Uh, Hermione."

Was he really so ignorant that he would cast off such information from his best friend? He really was a self-involved prat.

"Hermione!"

"What?" she snapped, facing Neville impatiently.

Eyes wide, nervous, he pointed to the cutting board. She had been chopping up the root for their elixir to induce euphoria. That seeming oddly inappropriate considering her deteriorating mental state and the anger bubbling up inside of her. Rather than cutting up the appropriate amount, she'd diced her entire store of it.

"Oh," she said, a pink blush staining her cheeks. "Sorry Neville, I must have dozed off for a bit."

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, yes. Just a bit tired."

"Alright," he said slowly, skeptically.

Hermione watched as he tossed some in the cauldron before referring back to their textbook. Although she could do this with her eyes closed, she hoped that letting Neville take the reigns would boost his self confidence. It was a relatively easy position. The new potions master was a huge step down from Snape. Not only where they allowed to pick their own partners (Harry and Ron were arguing over the potion, trying to find out where they'd gone wrong), but the work was decidedly easier.

She glanced at Malfoy. He looked bored, telling Pansy what to do and exactly how to do it.

* * * *

If she looked over at him one more time, he was going to lose it. The familiar sensation of someone boring a hole through his shoulders, shooting daggers at him, made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was unsettling.

What was worse was that now he knew.

He knew exactly why she was looking at him so intently, studying his every move. When Blaise had told him what he'd seen, he was sure Weasley's fiery little sister had scrambled his brains. He actually laughed, a genuine, joyful sound spilling from between his lips. Blaise had looked furious and threw him a rude hand gesture before leaving him to his sleep.

Draco was debating whether or not he would go down to breakfast. He wasn't worried about the truth to Blaise's ridiculous story, but just wondered whether or not he should sleep a bit more before classes. It wasn't a good idea, though, not eating until lunch. He had Double Potions in the morning and without sustenance, he wouldn't have enough patience to deal with Pansy and her constant fondling, flirting and general lack of intelligence.

He took the stairs up to the Entrance Hall two at a time, realizing he had only a few moments before classes begun. It would be just enough time for some pumpkin juice and a piece of toast. The hushed voices stopped him at the top, especially when he heard his name.

Standing on the grand marble staircase was Granger and Blaise. He could hear every word exchanged between the two thanks to the remarkable acoustics of the room. He couldn't see Blaise, but there was no mistaking his friend's serious tone. It was the same one he had been woken up with only an hour ago. Granger on the other hand looked ill. Her face was pale and her hair a total mess, even more unruly than usual. From what he could see, she looked worried. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes frantic.

Blaise would never go to such an extreme to fool him. And Granger, of all people, would never be in on such a scam. She took everything so seriously, he didn't even know if she was capable of having fun. It made everything they said that much more compelling.

Hospital wing? His future self? Time-Turner?

None of it made any sense to him. But if Blaise was telling the truth, he wouldn't be heading down to breakfast. There was only one place he was going before class started.

If they were playing some messed up game, both of them would have hell to pay.

So he made his way toward the hospital wing when the coast was clear. Although he knew he would be ravenous by the time lunch rolled around, his appetite, for the time being, had been sated. He was walking so fast his hair was ruffled by the breeze he kicked up. This had to be a joke. He didn't even own a Time-Turner. Rounding the corner, he stopped abruptly.

There was a lineup of students outside the doors of the hospital wing. The heavy wooden doors were pulled shut, for what seemed to be the first time in Hogwarts history or at least the past six years. Madam Pomfrey was always there. The hospital wing couldn't be closed. He looked to the closest student, a first year he didn't recognize.

"You," he snapped. "What's going on?"

The kid turned around, almost wincing at the sight of him. "Um....uh, I don't know. We're all supposed to go to...er, see Professor Sprout if we need any draughts or anything, er...sir?"

"Spineless," he huffed, turning back down the corridor he had come. He had no tolerance for first years. They were good at nothing but doing his bidding. Most of them were incapable when it came to that.

All that he could do was go to class. As soon as the hospital wing opened up again, Madam Pomfrey was going to get an earful.

* * * *

"Professor?"

The wiry woman at the front of the class looked up. At the same time, the rest of the class shuffled and turned in their seats. Rarely were classes interrupted, especially by other professors. Tight-lipped, Professor McGonagall stood waiting acknowledgment from the potions master.

"Yes?"

"The Headmaster needs to speak to Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy immediately, concerning their Prefect duties," she said, her voice sharp and insistent.

Aside from Snape, if there was a professor students feared, it was the carefully composed McGonagall. She always stood ramrod straight and her facial expression never seemed to change. Even now, when Hermione's heart sank, she knew that McGonagall had been informed. But still, it didn't show in her face. Nothing did.

Harry and Ron, and the entire class but two other students, saw no faults in this. But Malfoy shot a look at Blaise who merely smirked and shook his head. Hermione didn't spare a look at Malfoy. She didn't know if her stomach could handle it.

"Oh, certainly. Yes, of course."

Hermione hastily gathered up her belongings. Her hands trembled violently, but as long as she kept her hands moving, no one would notice. Malfoy did the same as the class carried on, the mull of conversation filling the dungeon classroom again. First out of the classroom, she didn't look back at Malfoy. She didn't say anything. She just kept her eyes forward and following McGonagall to Professor Dumbledore's office.

* * * *

The awkward silence was suffocating in the office. Dumbledore sat at his desk, his hands folded casually in front of him, an amused expression on his face. Off to the side of the room, Madam Pomfrey (to Malfoy's extreme anger), Snape and McGonagall all stood silently. Hermione hadn't moved since she sat down, perched on the very edge of her seat.

After what felt like eons, Malfoy inhaled a large breath, "Listen here, old man, I want to know what the bleeding hell is going on!"

"Mister Malfoy," Snape drawled. There was a line, only so much Snape could take, and clearly Malfoy had crossed it. His voice was testy and he glared at the young man before him.

The twinkle of amusement in Dumbledore's eyes never left. He looked at Hermione, "Would you care to explain, Miss Granger, or shall I?"

"If this is about that nonsense about a Time-Turner—"

"Silence!" Snape snapped, his voice crisp and teetering on livid. The hard edge was enough to stop Malfoy's mindless babble, but not enough to keep him from glaring at Hermione.

"So you know?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.

"I know that it's a load of rubbish."

"I take is Mr. Zabini was present in the hospital wing last night?" he addressed this question to Hermione.

She shifted uncomfortably before clearing her throat. "Yes, sir."

"Ah. Well, I will have to speak to him about this...predicament. Rest assured that he won't breathe a word of this to any of your classmates, Mr. Malfoy, as you of all people did not believe him easily. I'm sure he won't be telling his story to anyone else."

"I'm not worried!" he yelled, losing what little patience he had left. "I don't know what you're all on about!"

"It's difficult to articulate, Mr. Malfoy. But, as it would seem, you've come back to the present."

"I've what?" he asked.

"Come back to Hogwarts from an unspecified time. Miss Granger here was studying in the library last night and she came across your person."

Malfoy let out a snort of amusement when the headmaster mentioned Granger in the library. Hermione turned on him, "Funny is it, Malfoy? I dragged you out the mess I found you in. If I hadn't, your future would have been looking pretty bleak right about now!"

"Yes, Miss Granger and Professor Snape escorted your future self to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey was waiting. As it stands, you are recovering remarkably well. Not to worry, though. I'm sure you've learned that the hospital wing has been closed off for privacy."

"You're serious about all this?" Malfoy asked, the little colour in his face gone. The smirk he maintained throughout the 'ridiculous' story had vanished as well. "I don't even have a Time-Turner! This is absolute nonsense. You wait until my father hears about this, he'll have you fired once and for all."

"It's mine," Hermione said.

Malfoy looked at her as though she'd grown three extra heads. "What?" he seethed.

"The Time-Turner, Malfoy. The one you had in your hand. It's mine."

Hermione reached into her pocked and pulled out two identical Time-Turners. The only differences were small, they could only be seen upon close inspection. Little chips in the glass and the gold. And the flecks of dried blood in the chain. Strangely enough, he grabbed the same Time-Turner he had arrived with, his hands shaking, almost imperceptibly.

"How?" He looked sick now.

"And herein lies the mystery, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore excused them from the office under several conditions. Naturally, they were sworn to secrecy. They were excused from classes for the rest of the day. The Ministry would not be notified until they had discussed it with the older Draco Malfoy.

Hermione darted out of the office, hurrying away from the confined space in the hopes of leaving all of her worries, all of it, there. But of course, the biggest problem of all kept pace with her. Malfoy.

"You bint, you absolute useless _Mudblood_," he snarled. "Look at what you've done."

"How do you know it's my fault?" she asked, turning on him. Her sounded shrill to her. She was quickly losing her grip. "You were the one with my Time-Turner!"

He ignored her. Hermione had never seen him look so conflicted. He was terrified, angry, furious even. He looked vulnerable in this state, unable to maintain the Malfoy aura he'd worked so hard to create over the years. For an instant, he looked human. "Do you know what they'll do to me?" he snarled angrily, hurling the Time-Turning down the corridor.

"DO YOU?"

She was thankful everyone was in class. This would be a scene worthy of that foul Skeeter woman. It would certainly create a string of gossip, have every student in the school asking questions.

"Who?" Hermione demanded. "Your family?"

"No," he laughed bitterly. "My problems are bigger than that."

"Voldemort?"

"Shut up," he breathed as soon as the last syllable had spilled from her mouth. "Just shut up. Don't ever say that name again." He looked so tired to her, so worn down. Much older than his sixteen year old self. Hermione could see the resemblance between him and his other self.

He wouldn't tell her all his woes. There was no way she would get him to say anything more. Even as she turned to pick up the Time-Turner, she could see him falling back behind the carefully built walls he had created for himself. She held it out to him, meeting his gaze.

"If you want to know, there's only one person you can talk to."

Malfoy took the Time-Turner from her, careful not to touch her hand.

* * *

**Can you say "OMG"? **


End file.
